


got these feelings for you

by archer_of_fate



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archer_of_fate/pseuds/archer_of_fate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ronan takes the opportunity to stare at him, at the way his shorts cling to his hips and the water pools in the slight concavity of his stomach. His best friend, his maddeningly kind and honorable best friend, who probably didn’t even like boys…</i>
</p>
<p>Gansey and Ronan go swimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	got these feelings for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sparcck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcck/gifts).



> I had a great time wallowing in teen angst on your behalf! Title from Feelings by Maroon 5, because why not! ;)

Henrietta summers are hazy with humidity that makes shirts stick to the small of the back and warm enough to see the heat waves rise off the pavement. Ronan loves summer, primarily because it means that Aglionby is not in session, but also because some of his fondest memories involve summertime: family vacations to the Chesapeake Bay, the smell of freshly cut hay, and horsing around with Matthew in the evenings.

Gansey fits into all of this with an ease that is somewhat terrifying. Richard Campbell Gansey III, senator’s son, should not feel comfortable on a working farm like The Barns—it’s far too boring, for someone who is used to the bustle of Washington, DC. Ronan actually has the theory that one would be better off to consider what would be logical for Richard Campbell Gansey III, and then just rejecting it in favor for the illogical—it usually seems to work.

“Christ, you need to get the AC fixed,” he grumbles to Gansey, rolling down the passenger side window to let in a breath of air. “Where are we going again?” Ronan rolls his head back against the headrest, tilting his head to look at Gansey imperiously.

Gansey doesn’t seem intimidated; if anything, he takes it in stride with a smile and a matter-of-fact “You’ll see. Be patient.”

Ronan rolls his eyes so hard that it hurts, and turns to look out the window. The scenery rolls past in a green blur, and for a brief moment that itch under his skin—the urge to go faster—starts to make itself known. He tamps it down, and returns to looking at the cornfields as they pass by, unease and excitement warring in the pit of his stomach.

Finally the Pig pulls to a stop beside a sign that says Blue Creek Reservoir. It’s a familiar sight—Aglionby’s rowing team has practice here in the spring, and Ronan has waited around on Gansey enough to know the layout.

“Did you bring anything, or am I going to have to swim naked?” Ronan quips with a razor-edged smile.

Gansey’s eyes widen, flick down to the denim of Ronan’s jeans, and back up. He clears his throat and unclips his seatbelt to better fish something out of the back seat. “I come prepared.” A plain blue pair of board shorts lands in Ronan’s lap, swiftly followed by a towel. 

“That’s what she said,” Ronan retorts and laughs wildly at the flustered look that crosses Gansey’s face for a brief second before he gets out of the car. “Last one to the raft buys lunch?” He waggles his eyebrows for comic effect, and manages to get Gansey to smile.

What ensues is a mad dash to the shoddy changing areas on the reservoir’s beach, and Ronan purposely trips Gansey mid-run to the water, enough to give him an advantage. He lengthens his stride and manages to get up to his hips, enough to duck under and swim towards the floating raft that lies fifty meters out. 

He’s a few feet away from touching the bottom rung of the metal ladder when a strong hand closes around his foot and drags him back. Ronan loses his concentration and splutters, bobbing to the surface. Gansey laughs at him when he spits his mouthful of water at him, treading water easily; Ronan draws closer, enough to punch him half-heartedly in the shoulder. “That’s not fair, Dick!”

“And tripping me is fair?” Gansey brushes past him to plant both hands on the wooden side of the raft and heave himself up. The water streams down the defined muscles of his back in a way that makes Ronan’s stomach twist into knots, want and need warring with the logic that this was his best friend in all the world and what if he didn’t reciprocate?

“Come on then.” Gansey’s voice cuts through Ronan’s reverie, and he realizes that Gansey has a hand extended down for him. He takes it, marveling at the solid, strength of him, and allows Gansey to help him up.

They flop onto their backs to bake out in the sun, pressed companionably shoulder to shoulder. Gansey sighs and crooks one arm over his eyes to block out the sun; Ronan takes the opportunity to stare at him, at the way his shorts cling to his hips and the water pools in the slight concavity of his stomach. His best friend, his maddeningly kind and honorable best friend, who probably didn’t even like boys…

“A picture would last longer,” Gansey drawls, peeping out at Ronan from under his arm. “Something on your mind?”

“Just trying to figure out how a guy like you isn’t being swarmed by girls.” He tries not to sound too angry about it, but Ronan knows that Gansey can read him like a book—it’s infuriating, but it’s always been that way. Ronan flips over onto his stomach, resting a cheek on his arms as he resolutely does not look at Gansey, instead looking out at the water.

“I’m not interested. Glendower is more important.” But there is something about the way he says it, the vague reassuring tone, that simultaneously makes Ronan pleased and angry: angry that he is so transparent, and perhaps even angry that Gansey chooses to do nothing about it if he does know. 

Gansey rolls over onto his side to face Ronan, propping himself up on an elbow. He leans over slightly to prod Ronan in the shoulder. “You should have put on sunscreen. You’re burnt.” His hand smooths over Ronan’s shoulder and up to his nape, presumably assessing the damage, where it rests. “You’re going to be miserable.”

“You’re the one who had the bright idea to go swimming, Dick,” Ronan grouses. He turns to look at Gansey. “Not all of us can tan like you.”

The hand at his nape squeezes once, before falling away. Gansey’s smile is broad, but his expression is frustratingly enigmatic. “We’ll stop and get some aloe, if it makes you feel better. I’ll even help you put it on.”

Ronan scoffs, and gets to his feet before pulling Gansey up. “It’s the least you could do.”

Gansey doesn’t let go of his hand, peering up at him curiously. “You need a haircut,” he blurts out of nowhere, and goes a shade of red that Ronan has never seen before. “It’s starting to curl on the top, I mean.”

And then, perhaps for the first time, Ronan realizes that there is tension on both their parts. Something warm and fond twists in his stomach, and he glances away, afraid that Gansey will see the naked want written clear across his face. “We never figured out who won. Race you back?”

He dares to squeeze Gansey’s hand once, an acknowledgement even if he can’t find the words, and pushes past him to dive into the water and swim back to shore.


End file.
